Such is your heart (surrender to it)
by sunlightscent
Summary: Hermione's first thought was that something smelled amazing. It was a beguiling, almost divine scent, and it made her forget where she was. It invaded her nostrils and wrapped around her mind like a rogue wave would submerge a stumbling rock in the middle of the ocean. [series of Romione oneshots, featuring Amortentia, Crookshanks's pov, Rose, Hugo, Christmas, AU's, etc]
1. Her archive

**QLFC, Prophet Competition. Round designed by Emiliya Wolfe. Every character in Harry Potter has a signature spell, or a memorable moment in which they use it. But why do they have such an affinity with that particular incantation? Your task this round is to write a character fic inspired by the use of each person's spell.**

 ** **Team: Appleby Arrows  
** CHASER 1: Hermione—** _ **Alohomora  
**_ **(picture):** **i. pinimg originals/7a/22/a7/7a22a722efc3af1004eea6e15f7640ec. jpg  
(colour): aquamarine  
(scenario): escaping from an impossible situation  
**

 **word count: 1417**

 **Thanks to the lovely Sophy for beta'ing :)**

 **A/N mix of movie-verse and book-verse.**

* * *

Hermione's first thought was that something smelled amazing. It was a beguiling, almost divine scent, and it made her forget where she was. It invaded her nostrils and wrapped around her mind like a rogue wave would submerge a stumbling rock in the middle of the ocean.

With an abrupt yank, that scent diverted her attention from the drawer labeled 'Potions,' where the file containing any and every information about Amortentia was.

She liked to think of her mind as a huge archive where everything had its place and there was a place for everything, and she loved it because it was perfect, organized, neat, without any frill. Against the right wall was the filing cabinet—a big, elegant one; Hermione pictured it made of a dark wood—in the middle of the room were glass cases for memories that she wanted easy access to; and on the left wall, a few trunks and chests with locks and seals on them were neatly stocked to guard her secrets and trap her fears.

Yes, she loved her archive.

But that scent— _oh, how divine_ , she thought as it made her weak in the knees—had just messed up her precious filing cabinet whose drawers were now opening pointlessly and without her consent. She felt control slipping away, and her grip on the edge of the table tightened.

"It's supposed to smell differently to each one of us, according to what attracts us—" Her voice reached her ears like in a dream; it was muffled and distant. Then, against her better judgment, she heard herself saying, "—and I can smell—"

Her most rational part—the small part of her archive still working—screamed at her to keep her mouth closed, that revealing what she could smell was off-topic, but her mind was saturated with that sweet, enticing scent, and mother-of-pearl filled her eyes, the spiraling steam hypnotizing her.

It smelled like… like…

 _Home._

 _Her father mowing the lawn and never forgetting to save some flowers—the most colored and scented—for her._

 _Her mother teaching her how to read._

 _Her parents introducing her to her first grown-up toothpaste when she was seven years old. "Hermione, we have something for you," they had said, handing her a tube of toothpaste. It was white and blue—aquamarine._

" _But I already have one." She had taken it anyway, even if she had been confused._

" _We know, honey—"_

"— _but this is a grown-up one. At first, it'll taste like salt—"_

" _Salt?" Hermione had asked, tilting her head._

 _Her dad had nodded. "But in the end, you'll notice that its taste and scent are without equals. We understand that not everyone can use it and it takes courage, but we're sure you can do it. And trust us, it's worth it."_

 _It had been._

 _Hermione still remembered how proud she had been when she had used it for the first time and had felt that mint flavor taking over her mouth; she had passed the test._

Fresh cut grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste overlapped now in her nostrils—each smell righting for dominance and reminding her of home.

It was the easiest, most logical and expected link, and Hermione sighed in relief, basking in the knowledge that she could still be in charge of her own archive and the opening of anything it contained.

She had not truly realized how much she liked it until the first time she had successfully cast her first Unlocking Charm. After that, each time she had used _Alohomora_ had been a rush of adrenaline mixed with the taste of the unknown and a subtle sense of freedom and even power, the need to discover what laid behind the door urgent and strong.

It had always been like that: when she was little, it was a box or a drawer; when she had been old enough to read, it was always some book she felt the urge to open.

It was no secret that her favorite place was the library, no secret that she absolutely loved any new essay she had to write and the thrill she got from it—filling her archive with always new information while at the same time showing how smart she was.

An insignificant memory popped up in front of her eyes, uncalled.

" _What? Potions, too?" Ron said, dropping his head on the table. "But we've just finished Professor McGonagall's essay."_

 _She sighed and was about to scold him for his laziness when he raised his head and a sweet whiff reached her nose._

 _New parchment and something else, something she couldn't quite find a place to in her archive yet, but she'd come to recognize as simply Ron._

Hermione could smell it now as clearly as she had back then. She just hadn't noticed that it was this mesmerizing, this sweet.

The seals on most of the trunks in her archive snapped open, and she knew there would be no escaping.

Fresh cut grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste overlapped in her nostrils—each one reminding her of home, but for once, her rational part had failed her; what seemed the most logical link was not the right one. Those smells—so meaningful, so ensnaring—that seemed to deprive her of any other thought, worries, or plan, had replaced them with memories that, she realized, pointed all towards one person.

 _Knock knock._

" _Enter," Hermione said absentmindedly, without even looking up from her book. She was lying on her bed in the room she shared with Ginny and she didn't expect any visitor except Ginny herself._

" _Err… Sorry, Hermione, but..." an embarrassed male voice said._

" _Hey, Ron!" she greeted, surprised. "What are you doing here?"_

" _I'm here to return you this," he said, opening his hand to reveal her tube of toothpaste._

" _Why did you have it?" Her tone was harsher than intended._

" _Oh." He blushed. "I-I had finished mine and asked Ginny to borrow hers, and she gave me this one. I didn't mean to take yours, I swear. She told me it was yours after I had already used it and_ —"

 _Hermione smiled. "It's all right then. I hadn't even noticed," she said as she put the tube back in her toiletry bag. "Well, thank you, I suppose."_

 _He blushed even more and turned to leave._

" _Didn't it bother you?"  
_

" _What?"_

" _My toothpaste_ — _it's salty._ "

" _Oh, no. I liked it actually—spearmint_ _—it's been refreshing. And I'm kind of used to things like that; after Fred and George put chili pepper in my toothpaste when I was little, nothing bothers me anymore."_

 _He smiled and she laughed, her nose faintly catching the spearmint scent coming from his mouth._

Hermione was dangerously close to the cauldron now and she knew she was likely to do something terribly wrong if a louder giggle had not reached her ears and an odd warmth had not spread on her cheeks and contributed to bringing her back to the Potions Classroom.

With a secret sigh of relief, she tried to pretend that none of those memories resurfaced because of the Amortentia.

Yet she could still feel them, screaming from where she had locked them. They kicked and screamed like little Mandrakes, threatening to kill her and demanding to be freed and exit that tiny, hidden chest that, she realized now, had little to do with her archive.

She had always loved it—her archive—because it was huge, elegant, neat, without useless frills.

 _Yet…_

 _Yet…_

 _And yet_ , she thought as her grip on her Potions book tightened, _there actually was one little frill._

The chest that was now slamming and jumping was nothing like the rest of her archive. It was tiny, almost invisible at first glance, but it stood out because it was red—a certain shade of red that faded into orange—and smelled like mint and new parchment. And if it could be examined more closed, one could notice many dots on the top of it. Dots that looked like freckles.

But Hermione would never admit it to anyone. She would never admit that those memories, trapped in the tiniest and most unreachable chest, were steadily updated and that she peeked at them more often than even she realized. No, she would never tell anyone that her archive was less than perfect and neat.

Late at night, though, when she'd fall asleep thinking of a certain red-head, she got over all the trunks and chests, reached the tiny chest on which she had placed an Extension Charm, and she opened it, her heart fluttering, her voice quivering, eager to look over its treasures.

" _Alohomora_."

* * *

 **Written for TGS, Build the Burrow. Prompt: Write about a character covering up a big secret**


	2. Her cat

**The Golden Snitch, Build the Burrow:** **Write about a character who appears hard on the outside, but is actually soft on the inside (a bit like Fang).  
The Golden Snitch, Prompt of the Day:** **(gesture) affectionate hug**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **word count: 547**

* * *

Crookshanks bared his teeth in annoyance as once again, his girl and that boy moved around each other as if they were walking on eggshells.

The cat looked around at the other people in the room; no one noticed, obviously. Humans were so clueless when it came to feelings and emotions radiating off them. Sure, the hints were subtle, almost undetectable— _almost_ being the key word—but they were all there, and it didn't take a high intelligence to realize that those two harbored tender feelings for each other.

She would wake up with his name on her lips, and he, the boy with the flaming hair, would always be there to be sure she was fine—clumsily and cautiously, but he was there. And that was rather funny to witness.

 _The door opened, waking up Crookshanks who immediately glanced at his girl; he was relieved to see that she was still sleeping. He then turned to the stranger that was tiptoeing in and hissed.  
_

 _"Hush, Crookshanks. It's just me," whispered the boy, moving his hands towards the earth in a calming gesture. "I came here yesterday too after she'd screamed in her sleep, d'you remember?"_

 _The cat eyed him warily_ _—she hadn't had any nightmare tonight so there was no reason for him to be here_ _—but let him get close to the bed._

 _The girl turned in her sleep, a name escaping her lips in a soft sigh, "Ron..."_

Flaming Hair _blushed—as red as his hair—and smiled. "I just needed to know she's finally getting some much needed rest."_

 _Crookshanks tilted his head and stared after the boy's retreating form as Hermione opened her eyes and pulled the cat closer to herself, hugging him. "He's so nice. I wish, I just wish_ — _" She sighed and fell silent._

 _He nuzzled into her neck._

Crookshanks knew he and Ron hadn't liked each other—and that was only the human boy's fault; how could he have protected that rat?—but even clever cats could change their minds if it was worth it. That didn't mean he had ever made the boy's life any easier though, needing to know what _Flaming Hair_ was able to put up with for Hermione's sake.

Well, that boy had passed the test. Not that Crookshanks really expected anything else; if anyone was worth Hermione, that was _her_ Ron.

 _"Psst, psst, Crookshanks."_

 _The cat regarded him, unmoving._

 _The boy reached out until he was brushing the cat's nose. "I envy you, you know. She lets you protect her while I... Anyway, thank you for it."_

 _The cat nodded._

 _"I-I trust you with her, so I need to know—what do you think of me. Am I good enough?"_

 _Crookshanks looked up at him, wanting to roll his eyes. But then, Hemione was the same when it came to her Ron, so the cat couldn't really judge him for it. They were both so smart and yet so foolish. Waves of love radiated off them so much that it was palpable. So Crookshanks sniffed the boy's trembling hand and purred, confirming he approved of the two of them._

 _Ron smiled and pulled the cat into an affectionate hug. "Ah, I knew you have a soft heart—deep down, but it's there."_

 _Of all the insults, this was the worst. Crookshanks meowed, outraged, and tried to wriggle free._

 _Ron laughed and hugged him closer._


	3. Their hero

**The Golden Snitch forum, Build the Burrow. Carpet: Write about a character with a 'warm' personality.  
The Golden Snitch forum, ******Ollivander's Wand Shop:**** ** **Write about Hermione Granger.  
** The Golden Snitch forum, Father's Day 2017. Character: Ronald Weasley.  
School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine.  
Prompts: ****(emotion) love,** **(object) present,** **(colour) bright orange,** **(word) hurt  
60 points.  
**

 **Summary: Ron has a heart of gold.**

* * *

Noises coming from the front door alerted Hermione, shaking her from her almost asleep state. She blinked a few times and pricked her ears up; the clattering continued and she rolled over in bed, instinctively reaching for her husband. "Ron?"

When her hand clasped nothing but a handful of cold sheets, any remaining trace of sleep faded away and she remembered drowsing in an empty bed from the beginning.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position and waited, mentally counting the steps it took to go from the entrance door to their bedroom.

 _Ten._

 _Eleven._

 _Twelve._

 **Thud.**

Hermione giggled; Rose must have left her doll in the middle of the hallway once again—that girl was more similar to Ron than anyone could guess: lazy, stubborn, and afraid of spiders, but with a heart of gold.

 _Thirty-four._

 _Thirty-five._

 _Thirty-six._

Finally, the bedroom door opened and Ron's head peeked in—his bright orange hair visible even in the dark—before he tiptoed inside as silently as he could.

"Ron, I was worried," she whispered, turning the light on.

He froze mid-step. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. I—" He yawned. "—didn't realize it was so late until my boss mentioned it and said I wouldn't get paid for sleeping on work." He sighed.

She looked at him, taking in his wrinkled forehead, red eyes, slumped shoulders—he looked so tired. "Oh, Ron," she sighed, her heart hurting for him.

That year had been hard for them; they had had a lot of expenses for their children, house, and general livelihood.

Some days ago, they had put together what remained of their salaries—both of which had suffered from severe cutbacks by the Ministry.

" _Christmas won't be Christmas without presents," Ron had said in a half-forlorn, half-amused tone._

 _She had looked at him, puzzled._

" _Hermione, I don't need anything but your company for Christmas. Use the money you saved for my presents to make a better gift to Rose and Hugo. They deserve it."_

 _Hermione had thrown herself at him then, hugging him close and nuzzling her nose into his neck, feeling so full of love and pride for this wonderful man whose heart was so big that she wondered how it could not explode in his chest sometimes._

"What have you been doing to yourself?" Hermione said, worried.

"Nothing more than I could take. You know we need this money to give everyone a good Christmas. I—" He rubbed his eyes. "Hermione—"

When he bent down to kiss her forehead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down until he was laying next to her. "Here, isn't it better?"

"But I've still my shoes on. And I'm wet from the snow." He squirmed as her hair tickled his neck. "Please, let me cast a Hot-Air Charm, at least."

She reached for her wand. " _Adiectio Caloris_. You have no excuses now."

"Well..." He smirked. "My shoes—"

"Who cares? I missed you," she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ears. "I was so cold without you." She took his hand and brought it to her cold nose. "Don't you feel it?"

Ron laughed and kissed it. "Oh, I love you, Hermione." He cupped her face and whispered again, seriously, "I love you."

"Love you too."

Far from cheering him up, those words seemed to sadden Ron.

He closed his eyes, a pained expression hazing his face. "Why? I'm a terrible father and husband."

"What?" She couldn't believe what she had just heard.

"It's true. I wasn't even able to give you a Christmas present."

"But, Ron—"

"I'm sorry. You'd deserve better." A tear escaped from beneath his closed eyelid.

"Ron, you—" She kissed him. "—are the best man in the world. I've chosen you and I'll keep choosing you. I don't care about presents or anything else. We have a nice home, two amazing children, and—" Her voice broke. "I'm _happy_ with _you_ , Ron. I don't need anything—or anyone else. You are amazing, Ronald Weasley, and just the man for me. Never forget it," she said as a plan formed in her mind.

"Hermione, you—" He opened his eyes and saw her own tears. As she kissed them away, he said, his voice choked, "I love you, my perfect Hermione."

"I love you, Ron. I always have and always will." _I won't let you forget._

.

After the children had opened their presents—Rose had squealed in delight while Hugo had laughed all the time—Hermione nodded at her daughter who reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"Daddy," Rose said, "Mum—"

Hermione cleared her throat—Ron was not supposed to know that she had helped them. And after all, she had merely helped them with the writing part.

" _I want to draw our family," Rose had said, "as a present for daddy."  
_

 _Hugo had nodded. "Daddy he'o," he had babbled. "He'o."_

" _Yes, that's daddy. Come, Hugo. You can do the sky."_

Rose stopped and looked at her. "What?"

Ron eyed her suspiciously too as Hugo climbed up his knees.

Hermione squirmed under their gazes. "It's all right, darling," she said to Ron. Then, "Rose, honey, please, go on."

Hugo giggled as Ron made him bounce up and down.

"Me and Hugo—" Rose said again.

"Hugo and I," Hermione corrected automatically.

Ron glanced at her and mouthed, "Christmas," with a shy smile. Then, he said, "Ok, Rose, start again."

Rose looked at Hermione. " _Hugo and I_ made this for you, Daddy." She handed him the piece of paper.

Hermione looked at Ron's expression as he took in Rose's drawing: it portrayed the four of them in front of their home. Next to each one, there was a label—Rose's handwriting was still tentative and messy but still clear enough for Ron to understand it as Hermione saw his blue eyes glazing with tears.

"Rose, Hugo," he said, his voice full of love and wonder. He hugged them close. "You're the best children a man could ask for. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Hermione came and leaned against him. " _Mum: Princess. Dad: our hero_ ," she read. "She's right, you know. You're our hero."

* * *

 **This is written for a Father's Day event, it's September… and yet all I could think of is Christmas ;) Oh well, I hope you enjoyed it. I just read a Romione story in which Ron turns out to be an idiot, and I couldn't stand it. Ron's just a sunshine too good for this world. :) And I love him too much for my own good, but he deserves it. That is to say, if you want to fangirl about him, my inbox is always open ;)**


	4. King vs Knight

**TGS: Build the Burrow** (Photographs: Write a fluffy family story) **, Ollivander's Wand Shop** (Cypress - Write about a Pureblood) **, Madame Malkin's Dress Shop** (Orange slacks: Write about a Weasley) **, It's a bit Riddikulus** (Arachnophobia: The fear of spiders. _Write about Ronald Weasley_ \+ (genre) romance + (word) fake + (colour) forest green) **.  
(Beauxbatons, Melusine)  
**

 **A/N they're playing with a Muggle chess set because it comes from Mr. and Mrs. Granger.**

 **I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it!**

* * *

"Dad, tell us that story again," Rose said, still holding on Ron's arm as if she feared he would disappear.

She had rushed into his study a few minutes earlier and had jumped on his lap, bouncing and uncaring that he often repeated he was not to be disturbed when he was sitting at his desk—but then, no one had ever really followed that rule and he didn't actually mind.

Hugo nodded at Rose's words as he raised on his tiptoes and tried to place the ivory chessboard on the table. "Yes, tell us again about the Ice King." He was still too short so he jumped a little while pushing the chessboard up. "Bloody—" he said as it bounced against something and started falling.

"Hugo!" Ron was appalled. "What would your mother say?" he said as he captured the chessboard with one hand while steadying his son with the other, Rose still hanging onto his forearm.

"Sorry, Dad." Hugo's ears turned red as he flashed Ron a shy smile.

"It's ok. Just don't let your mum hear you." Ron winked. "Now, what do we have here. Hm, it's a black and white square—" he said faking disinterest.

"Daaad!" Rose pulled his arm. "We want the story."

Hugo took hold of his other arm, his grip strong despite his young age, and both he and Rose dragged and forced Ron to sit at the table, in front of the chessboard.

She handed him the lime green velvet bag with the chess pieces.

Ron wrinkled his nose at it—Hermione's parents had given them this ivory chess set, for which he was very grateful, but that shade of green hurt his eyes every time. Hermione calling it forest green didn't make it any more appealing; Ron still thought that something red, gold, or even orange would have been better. She'd just laugh his Gryffindor and Cannon pride away and kiss him.

"Story story story!" Hugo chanted as he climbed up a chair, putting his elbows on the table.

"Yes, Dad. How can we know how to arrange pieces otherwise?"

"Oh, I'm sure you must be tired of it; it's always the same old, boring story. And you don't need it anymore, after all. This is not the first time you play."

"But we want to hear it again." Rose pouted, her face conveying that greatest amount of disappointment she could muster.

Ron glanced at the clock; they had still some time before Hermione got home. "Alright—"

"Yay!"

" _Once upon a time, long ago, there was a white and snowy realm; it was ruled over by the White Queen—"_

He took said piece and put it on a white square in the bottom of the chessboard.

"— _and the Ice King. They happily lived together—"_

Ron put the King beside the Queen.

"— _surrounded by wise advisors—"_

The two Bishops were placed on the King's left and on the Queen's right.

"— _and protected by bold and valiant Knights armed with long and unforgiving spears. They rode smart, strong horses who enjoyed grazing in the shade of the high towers—"_

He put the Knights by the Bishops and the Rooks in the corners.

"— _and playing with the little Pawns whose duty was to guard the King."_

Ron filled the second row with white Pawns.

" _Not too far away from there, there was a realm where everything was hot and black. It belonged to the Volcano King and the Lava Queen. Like in the other castle, there were wise advisors, brave Knights, high towers, and little guards._

" _By chance, there hadn't been any more wars in a while, so the two Kings—bored and reckless—decided to wage one against each other, but wisely counselled and fearing to get hurt, they asked their Knights to give up their sharp spears and had their little Pawns gathering white snow and black wool at the border between their realms to make it softer and cozier._

" _Once they were all there, they agreed to make just one move each to keep it fair, and since the Snow people were the first to arrive, it was decided they would be the one to start it all._

" _The Kings stayed back and gave orders and when the situation became too dangerous for them they found shelter in the highest tower."_

Ron took the King and the Rooks and castled.

.

During the game, Rose elbowed Hugo, whispering, "Look, our King is about to walk into Dad's ambush. Move it out of there."

Hugo picked the piece up and hugged it. "I'll save you, White King." Guided by Rose, he positioned it into a safer square.

Ron reminded them, " _The King has fought all his life. He's always been ambitious, hoping to expand his kingdom so in his youth, he took part in many wars, each time hoping to become the greatest. Wars have never frightened him; he could beat everyone. He could even talk to God. But now, he's old and tired, hindered by his long cloak and the big crown, which represent his power, so yes, he can go everywhere—he's the mighty King after all—but he really can't do more than one step at a time._ Poor King!"

"But he's safe now," Hugo said as Rose's eyes were fixed on Ron's ones, trying to read them and foresee what he would do.

He smiled and moved his Queen, making her cross more than half chessboard. " _The Queen can go everywhere, but she's very haughty and proud—_ "

"I bet she's a Slytherin, huh?" Hugo said.

Ron nodded and grinned. "— _so when she walks, she never looks around and heads straight to where she wants to go, her chin up in the air. She's the best, the greatest, and she knows it._ "

.

Rose reached out for her Queen, ready to capture Ron's Knight, but he stopped her.

"Wait, consider it very carefully, Rose. You must always think in advance while playing chess."

She rolled her eyes. "I know the rules, Dad."

"It doesn't mean you can play though—it takes years of practice," he quickly added at her outraged look. "I know you can play rather well for your age."

" _For my age_? You were barely any older, and Mum says you were already the greatest player she's ever known—even better than Professor McGonagall," she said, her voice filled with awe and a bit of envy.

"It was-it was different, and some things I'd rather you didn't know. Here, however, you can't capture my Knight with your Queen because you're gonna leave your King vulnerable, especially since I could checkmate you with my Rook after—"

"WHAT?" Hermione's voice shrieked from the hall.

"Mum!"

"Hermione, are you all right?"

"Ronald Weasley, what did you do?"

Ron, Rose, and Hugo frozen.

"It's ok, we were just playing chess," Ron hastily said as his mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he had done to upset his wife.

He mentally retraced all his steps from when she had left to that moment.

 _Godric!_ he panicked, Hugo had cursed and—but how did she know? Muggle cameras, that's how! After all, she'd always been so informed about anything going on at home when she wasn't there that Hugo and Rose called her Hawk Mama sometimes. Hermione had just laughed at it and often used it to make them behave.

Or… What else could he have done? He hadn't forgotten any anniversary, he was sure of that—he could never forget any of them even if he tried.

Then what?

"RON, you stupid, idiot, reckless! You _Gryffindor_." She launched at him, crashing against him and starting hitting his chest.

He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, still trying to figure out what he had done, desperately wishing to make it right. "Err, Hermione—" He hadn't hurt her feelings again, or had he? The thought was unbearable. "I'm sorry I—" _He what?_

He felt Hermione going limp in his arms and he hugged her closer.

"You bloody idiot," she weakly said.

He glanced at Rose and Hugo. "Hermione, mind your tongue, will you?" he half-heartedly joked.

The children chuckled and Rose clasped Hugo's shoulder and leaned forward to speak into his ear, making him laugh harder as a look of triumph entered her eyes.

"I can't believe _she_ did that in our first year—made that darned chessboard to… to kill." Her voice was barely a whisper. "And you knew it and… You took advantage of me and Harry back then."

"What?" Ron was hurt that she could even think something like that. "I—"

"Let me finish. Harry and I… _I_ didn't know what your move entitled, but you, you knew. That move—you just said to Rose it's not wise because it leaves the King vulnerable, and yet McGonagall's Queen did it, and you knew—" Her voice broke. "You saved us, protected us both from that fate and from that awful knowledge."

"Hermione, love, it was long time ago—"

"You haven't changed though. You'd do it again, wouldn't you?"

He averted his eyes and looked at their beautiful children. "As would you."

"Dad did _what_?" Rose asked.

"He beat the world," Hermione smiled, turning and disentangling herself from Ron's arms. She grabbed his hand and hold on tight.

"Wow!"

"Dad is the King from the story!" Hugo said.

"Hugo, I'm not—"

"Yes! He is. Isn't she, Mum?"

A calculating look entered Hermione's eyes. "That'll teach you not to hide things from me," she playfully whispered.

"I was eleven, for Merlin's sake!" Ron ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

"I can honestly tell," Hermione said, "neither I nor uncle Harry nor anyone else for that matter would be here, had it not been for your father."

Rose's and Hugo's eyes widened as they stared at him in awe.

Ron felt hot all of a sudden. "No, I—" He couldn't speak; his mouth and throat felt too dry while his eyes felt too watery, and it was all Hermione's fault, Hermione who was now looking at him, a mischievous grin on her face. Oh, the brightest Witch of her age was going to pay for this. "You, Hermione—tell them the truth." If anything, he was a Knight—every Gryffindor was one.

His wife's grin got bigger.

She wouldn't—

"So you don't know?" she asked to Rose and Hugo.

"Hermione, you're supposed to be the serious one!" Ron pleaded as he felt his ears on fire.

"I am, love. I'm just educating our children. They have the right to know that—"

"Stop!"

"— _Weasley is our King,"_ she proudly finished.

Too late. They definitely had had an awful influence on her.


	5. Sing, o Goddess (Greek mythology AU)

**QLFC, S6, R1 - Never Have I Ever  
BEATER 1: write a writing style you've never written before — epic poetry  
Team: Pride of Portree**

 **Optional prompts:  
2\. (setting) thunderstorm  
8\. (word) homemade  
14\. (quote) Imagination is the highest kite that can fly. - Lauren Bacall**

Characters: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger  
Word count: 1217

This is a **Greek tragedy!AU** of the battle of Hogwarts, inspired by the moment when Ron screams to Voldemort, "He beat you," and the question, "What if Harry was really dead?"  
Like the Iliad covers only a few months of a ten-year-long war, this story doesn't cover the whole battle either.

Many thanks to Oni and Sarah for beta'ing :3

* * *

 **Proem**

Your sonorous harp don't you silence  
And tell me, o Muse, how Hogwarts fought,  
The last glorious bastion of free magic,  
Shining jewel amongst the Scottish stones.

Beloved of the Four, home to Merlin,  
You who magic blessed with feels,  
And were worldly envied and celebrated,  
What's left of you now?

Sing, o soft-voiced Goddess,  
How they came, cloaked in darkness,  
To blacken and burn down,  
Wicked and unforgivable.

Of swift cats and owls tell me, Muse,  
Who escaped the towered halls and their fates.  
As dark people went against Zeus' wishes  
And all of the Underworld simmered.

May your crystal voice resound  
And tell me, o Goddess, the resistance,  
The love of those that opposed  
Noble honor to ignorant egoism.

For the deeds of the Chosen One  
Who the aoidos rightly celebrated  
Thousands and thousands of moons ago  
Were not the only ones worthy to be sung.

Now there's nothing but rain  
On cold stones and naked ground,  
Where once was grace and wisdom,  
And honor ran in blood and souls.

So I invoke your help, great Muse.  
Lead my imagination, raise it  
Beyond any mountain covered in snow,  
Over the clouds, carried by the wind.

So that, through my docile lips,  
You can tell what happened  
But was never narrated,  
What was and is no more,  
What for too long now  
Has been buried, sunken in time.

 **Part 1**

The noise of violent, black waves.  
The wind that whipped the forest,  
Bending and making the trees beg.  
The rude cawing of the crows.  
Metal clashing against metal:  
Iron blades against bronze armors.

Helmets, spears, and shields  
Barely shone for the sun missed  
—Zeus' son and Leto's, Apollo,  
Having hidden it in his anger—  
And homemade they might be,  
But they glowed with true courage.

The sound of a horn, howling,  
Grimly moaning in the cold wind.  
The rhythmic steps of the valiant ones.  
The regular beating of their hearts.  
Hogwarts lay beneath the dark sky,  
Powerful and full of heroes.

The walls were sharp and mighty.  
Unanimous was the warning:  
"Enemies of the School, beware!  
"This is home to fighters,  
"This is the Death Eaters' grave,  
"Where the unworthy meet their ends."

Ruthless statues jumped to protect,  
The strong building castled itself  
To prepare for battle, closing.  
The clouds grew heavy in the sky,  
An angry thunderstorm brewing,  
For who would dare attack Hogwarts?

On the grounds, black flashes glowed  
As the enemies gathered, cackling,  
And aligned, arrogant and wicked,  
The long, uneven line breaking  
The harmony between sky and earth,  
Gods and mortals, magic and nature.

On the wall, he rested his hands.  
Neither they nor his heart trembled.  
Up there, on the brave ones' tower,  
The air felt rarefied, the silence unreal.  
But he knew that'd soon change,  
Turn into fierce battle cries.

Red lightning struck the ground,  
Illuminating the massive black army  
And reflecting in the man's deep eyes  
As it made the whole earth shake,  
Each stone, tree, and creature,  
But no heart that beat in Hogwarts.

For Hogwarts defends her people,  
Hogwarts defends her women,  
Hogwarts defends her children,  
Hogwarts defends her suppliants.  
Help will always be given at Hogwarts  
To those who ask for it.

But she can't always defend her warriors.  
And sometimes, there's nothing  
To prevent the fallen from falling.  
Spring only comes once for mortals,  
And never after they've been touched  
By the winter frost and pallor: Harry died.

 **Part 2**

Thunder like ghastly screams,  
Lightning like gory blades,  
The storm broke out, barking.  
The livid mantle of the sky fell,  
Cold rain on the field before blood  
Stained it; still hot yet lifeless.

Gentle feet approached the warrior.  
Her heart was heavy, but she didn't falter.  
She didn't speak. He didn't turn.  
Still, her eyes found his; depth met depth.  
They listened to new sounds, far away.  
It rained on their lashes, as if they were weeping.

Of the perfect creatures of yore  
A beautiful reminder, the two stood,  
Mahogany and copper against the wind.  
Whole such creatures were  
Before the Gods, ever envious,  
Split them into two wandering halves.

White clothing she wore, soaked,  
But she was unbothered by it.  
Her shiny threads had turned opaque  
For the absence of the sun,  
Her coral hairpins were sea waste,  
Fading beneath a torn sky.

Her dark eyes reflected the storm.  
A lion's heart beating in her chest,  
She was too wise to ask, "Why?"  
"Do not let," she said, touched, concerned,  
"Oh do not, pain bend your strength,  
"Desperation cloud your mind."

A cold resolve was in his eyes,  
Where ashes had replaced sapphires.  
Hollow like the sunless sky above,  
They spoke of dark, deathly whispers.  
"My castle calls for aid; I'll answer."  
All light was momentarily lost.

"What will your answer be, o knight?  
"A foolish death won't help Hogwarts,  
"As your strong arm would, your wand."  
But his blood boiled; in his heart,  
Only a prayer: "Unavenged, Harry lies.  
"Injustice reigns. Let vengeance be mine."

If only he could complete the mission  
Of the brother that the Gods  
Shouldn't have sent to him  
If such a cruel fate awaited them  
To be torn apart so soon  
After finding each other again.

His heart full of yearning, he waited.  
When a bolt of lightning struck,  
He smiled; a broken, twisted thing,  
Full of teeth. The knife struck too  
In his mind, claiming unworthy lives,  
Hot blood quenching the thirst of beasts.

"He beat you!" A scream, a token of faith,  
Heartfelt, stronger than the storm,  
Its energy raw and unmatched.  
Ode to freedom, love, and life,  
It reverberated, evoking thunderbolts  
And sparks that felt like a new chance.

The favored child of Athena smiled,  
Recognizing the sign for what it was.  
Light still shone in dark places,  
Love still let himself be found.  
His arm wrapped around her,  
They'd meet their fate bound together.

And again did the horn sound,  
Bitter and raw, calling to arms,  
Replying to the foes' crude cries,  
While melancholic bells raised  
Above the thunders, full of regrets,  
To noble souls bidding farewell.

 **Epilogue**

O glorious Hogwarts,  
What's left of you, beautiful Hogwarts,  
You who superbly stood above all others?  
No building was ever your equal.

Inks and scrolls and portraits  
Graced your sacred halls,  
Built to be an inviolate temple  
By powerful Gods and magical beings.

How capricious of the Moirai  
That your blaze was so bright,  
Your fire so burning and alive  
While Death at you already smirked.

You trembled and screamed, Hogwarts,  
Hit by both human and elemental forces  
And cursed your pitiful fate.  
Once envied, you've fallen from grace.

Wretched, you witnessed, helpless,  
As the snakes devoured you.  
The sky, torn by lightning, bled too  
Along with the Gods, your last hope.

Be now grateful that the greatest are dead  
Among your children that so loved you,  
Dead before they saw you fall  
Unrecognizable, wrapped up in dark scars.

Be happy that the storm still rages,  
Blackening stars and planets,  
Its fury blind and devastating  
For great is the outrage you suffered.

So here the Four's last vow: winged,  
It marks the earth and thunders  
From cave to cave, from tree to tree  
Until the last creature is aware of it.  
"No sun will shine on your ash,  
"Until, have no doubt, you'll be avenged."


End file.
